faint whiff

I have impressively crap hair, I say it like you haven’t already noticed, but woe really is me.  I blame my poor genetic makeup for being particularly inconsiderate and choosing me last for the good hair team – what a bastard.

Thin, ratty and causing me the same psychological repercussions experienced by 50% of the male population suffering from premature baldness, my hair sucks.

Despite several wildly unsuccessful attempts at stimulating hair growth, attempts that left me with nothing more than the faint whiff of desperation, I have finally come to accept my misfortune.

My thin, mullet-esque mane can always do with a little helping hat and thanks to the good dudes at Lack of Color, my rats tail is now happily and rather fashionably disguised – hoorah.

Wearing – Winston Wolfe leather pants, similar found here & affordable faux leather leggings here, Asos blouse, similar found here and here, Lack of Color boater, similar found here.








After a recent and very brief spring cleaning session, I stumbled across my extensive hat collection. Panamas, caps, sun hats, you bloody name it. Hats on hats on hats. Thinking long and soft about why the hell I have so many damn dandruff coverers squatting in my wardrobe, I found my mind wandering back to old times. My passion for hats started young, five years in actually, thanks for asking. Let me take you back. Mum had packed my bag, slapped a fiver in my greedy little grubbers for a gourmet lunch of salt & vinnies and a sausage roll and bestowed a legionnaire’s hat upon my bean like a damn crown. Slay, Queen, bow down etc etc.

Admiring my collection now, the legionnaire’s unfortunately is noticeably absent but this Lack of Color Rose boater is more than making up for it. Truly mirroring my slay, queen, bow down moment circa 2005. Get around it.

Wearing: Lack of Color ‘Rose‘ Boater found here, Urban Outfitters ‘Sunshine‘ aviators found here, Zara blouse similar found here & Insight ‘Sasha‘ denim skirt found here.
Photography: Anastasia Borrelli @anastasia.borrelli



I have a massive head, an abnormally large cranium size according to measurements. It’s a condition called ‘Superior Intelligence’, essentially resulting in a bobble head-esque skull size. The world’s best minds have put it down to the expansion of skull tissue due to cranium overcrowding. Basically means your bean is so full to the brim with brains, wisdom and superlative motor skills that it moves up a cup size, got it? It’s somewhat similar to Mr G’s dog Celine, in Summer Heights High. But unlike poor, little Celine, I have the ability and means to disguise mine. Beanies, bad hair styles and hats will do the trick. But like many physical ailments before it, ‘Superior Intelligence’ has its hurdles. Finding hats to fit is never something to underestimate. Shopping in the men’s hat aisle has often been a humiliating experience, leaving emotional scars that have failed to heal over the years.

My discovery of Lack of Color hats is hardly ground-breaking, I know. They’ve been around, providing the world with their glorious designs for a number of years now, but something that sets them apart is their sizing. Generous enough for the likes of Celine and I but small enough for petite skull sizes too. Inclusion at its finest. They actually happen to be really good looking hats too, which is an improvement from my history of men’s broad-brims and caps. What more could you ask for?

Wearing: Lack of Color ‘Stardust Boater’, Zara silk blouse, Fella Swim bikini top, J brand Jeans, Natasha Schweitzer ‘Double Hoop Single Earring’ in silver.
Photos: Anastasia Borrelli


Sack of Organs

Recently, after a beer, chocolate and Gogglebox coma, my mother approached me with the rather gauzy question of ‘what is your calling in life Rachel?’. A question I had considerable trouble countering. Racking my brains, I listed off my talents. I can draw to a reasonable degree, crush a can between my shoulder blades and currently hold the family record of ‘most vomits overseas’, a title we as a family, take exceptionally seriously. So basically I am a walking, talking talentless sack of organs. Shit. A few nights later, with a bunch of my nearest and dearest, we decided as every gaggle of 98 year old women do, to play a few board games. Out came the cards, Cluedo and our false teeth – we were ready to get down. As pure instinctual skill took over my usually talentless sack of organs, I finally found my true calling. Mum, Dad, I am a bona fide Cluedo L-E-G-E-N-D, no gimmicks.

My new-found aptitude has begun to inspire me in other, non-homicidal ways, namely my sartorial skills. This outfit just screams Miss Scarlett with the candlestick in the conservatory. With an ashy baby pink colouring, this frock hides even the most savage blood splatters and its deep pockets can conceal your weapon of choice or you know, the answer cards. It’s just bloody pretty – no pun intended.

Wearing: Fashion Union dress, Lack of Color hat
Photos: Anastasia Borrelli


Left Outside Alone

Anastacia – an icon of a generation. Known for her gutsy vocal range and sass, her hit Left outside alone graced the ‘So Fresh’ line ups year after year. She battled and conquered cancer twice like a total boss and is known for her extensive philanthropic work. Despite this enormous repertoire of achievement, her most important and socially conscious body of work was her innovative pioneering of the tinted sunglass – truly inspired and well, well before her time. Her unwavering loyalty deserves true recognition as she both established and sanctified the continual rise of the tint, solidifying herself as a true legend. Like Anastacia, the tinted sunglass, who unquestionably ruled the nineties and noughties has not been seen nor heard from since – until now.

This yellow tint is going against every rule I ever made for myself. After a troubling incident in the school yard involving a pair of blue tinted reading glasses purchased from a retail store with the word ‘reject’ so aptly in its title, I swore them off forever citing irreconcilable differences. Despite my distressing history, these aviators are seeing my retro aesthetic fantasies come to fruition and have me almost, almost considering the practical ease of a transitional lens (almost). Categorically my favourite and least expensive buy of the season, you’d be wise, frugal and slightly creepy to invest in these babies.

Wearing: Asos bikini, Lack of Color ‘Sunny Dip’ hat, H&M white blouse, With Love Kristen sunglasses
Photos: Anastasia Borrelli


First Time

I think we can all remember our first time. For many of us, the first is the worst, a truly ghastly experience that can take years and years to psychologically recuperate from. Mine was just that. Year nine, fourteen and so very impetuous. Having made the rash assumption that I could handle the consequences, I just, kind of, went for it. I forwent the traditional method of slip, slop, slap, believing in the suns power to transform me into an exotic, olive-skinned, beach-dwelling fox only to have the harsh light of day, quite literally, come tumbling down on me. My first sunburn was the single nastiest thing I’ve subjected my body to, closely trailing my mums cooking.

After years and years of close consultation with an old pal called ‘hindsight’, I have learnt that your single most valuable possession is healthy skin and a gentle and compassionate understanding of your mother’s total ineptitude in the kitchen. Sun safety tends to get lobbed in with the 1980’s style Cancer-council sunglasses and the visual displeasure of the rash vest, when it really belongs sitting alongside the glamorous, broad-brimmed hat. This ‘Lack of Colour’ hat has you covered, making it both tangible and badass to be skin health conscious this summer. Quite frankly sh*tting on most alternatives on the market, this absolute superstar LOC creation is singing me a sweet, banana boat lullaby while making me the swaggiest pale girl on the beach circuit this year. You better believe it.

Wearing: Lack of Colour ‘Russo’ hat, Tom Ford sunglasses, vintage shorts and sandals, Rhythm bikini top
Photos: Anastasia Borrelli